“My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. . I didn't understand then, but I do now. “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. Now I’d like the rest of your story.
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